


Escaping Mrs Windsmore's Lot

by TheShadowPanther



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: First Time, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-18
Updated: 2012-08-18
Packaged: 2017-11-12 10:28:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/489856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheShadowPanther/pseuds/TheShadowPanther
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Harry turns away quickly, but it’s too late, Neville’s seen him looking.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Escaping Mrs Windsmore's Lot

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta’d, may mix Americanisms with Briticisms. 
> 
> I wrote this for 2012, for the prompt “Anniversary.” I, err, took a rather liberal view on the prompt. The Midsummer solstice celebration is technically an anniversary, in that it rolls around every year and people celebrate it, so it counts. Right? 
> 
> In no way should I be quoted on anything I say here about Midsummer solstice celebrations.

Harry dives under the table just in time. 

“Drat it, where did he go now?” an authoritative voice barks. Harry hastily casts a Disillusionment Charm as a pair of eye-searingly bright purple heels skid to a stop in front of the table. “I swear that boy won’t sit still for one second. Mrs Pellet! Mrs Pellet,” as a pair of slime green heels hurry up, “take the left perimeter of the room. 

“Mrs Clare,” a pair of vomit yellow flats whirls to face the glaring purple heels, “you go back into the crowd and try to find him with another Locate Spell.” So that’s how they keep finding him! Luckily Harry knows the counter spell. “I will take the right perimeter. Should any one of us find him, send a discreet – discreet, mind! – signal to the others’ wands, and we shall find you post-haste. Let’s find him before he gets into one of the private rooms.” 

“Yes, Mrs Windsmore, ma’am!” The slime green heels and the vomit yellow flats stamp in unison, then pivot on the heel and disappear in their assigned directions. The purple heels flash off to Harry’s right, the silver buckle glaring into Harry’s eyes as they go. 

Breathing a sigh of relief, Harry sags. Merlin preserve him from the – what was it Hermione called them? – the “geriatric fortune hunters” of the Wizarding world. Who thought it was a good idea to invite them? It was hell trying to escape them, honestly, worse than Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Voldemort could have taken lessons from this bunch. 

Waiting a second more to make sure none of the shoes’ owners return, Harry takes firm hold of his wand and taps his hand. Light blue light spills over his hand and sweeps up his arm, where it splits in two directions: up, to cover his upper torso and his head, and down, to cover the rest of his body. The Imperturbable spell flares when it completes, then goes dark. 

There, let Mrs Clare try to Locate him now, he thinks grimly as he checks his Disillusionment Spell is still active. He isn’t falling for that again, he can tell you that. Inching his way out from beneath the tablecloth, he takes a furtive look around to make sure neither Mrs Pellet nor Mrs Windsmore are around, then makes a beeline for the door closest to him. 

No small amount of relief suffuses him when the door opens and he’s able to dash inside. Blue light shines around the outline of the door and a loud _click_ sounds as the Privacy Seal clamps down. Harry rests his head on the door for a moment, thanking his lucky stars for this miraculous break. As long as the Privacy Seal is in place, no one will be able to find him until he goes out again. 

There aren’t many other occupants of this room, which makes sense, considering its function, and Harry nods to a few of them as he crosses over to the far wall. They nod back, their eyes darting from him to the door, then very obviously decide it’s none of their business and go back to their conversations. Quirking a smile at his continued luck, Harry settles back to relax, a house elf appearing to off him a drink of sparkling wine. 

He’s just relaxed, his body winding down from its escape attempt, when he spots Neville Longbottom. 

Great, just great. Just when he thought his luck had turned. Obviously not, if it was leading him to this. 

Harry turns away quickly, but it’s too late, Neville’s seen him looking. Fuck. Pasting a smile on his face, he downs the last of his sparkling wine (horrendous stuff, but better than nothing) and heads over. In for a Knut, in for a Galleon, as the saying went. 

“‘Lo, Neville,” he says, trying to look anywhere but at Neville. He awkwardly waves to the couple next to Neville, whom he vaguely remembers as part of the Kensington clan. Mr Kensington has mutton chops that would have been more appropriate three centuries ago, so Harry feels he’s making a fairly safe bet. 

“‘Lo, Harry,” Neville says. “Happy solstice. You in here to escape from Mrs Windsmore’s lot, too?” 

Harry’s smile becomes wry. “Yeah, it was horrible. I had to hide under a table and cast Disillusionment on myself to throw them off.” He groans. 

Neville grins crookedly. “I did something similar, only I told them I’d seen Lord Lessing over by the hors d’oeuvres and they took off like bats.”

Harry snorts his laughter as the Kensington couple titters politely. They all chat for a few moments more; Harry is thinking that he can make his excuses and flee when Kensington beats him to the punch. 

“Have to make the rounds, I’m afraid,” he says apologetically, eying the sudden tension between Harry and Neville. “Ara gets so upset when we don’t pay the social niceties to everyone. You know how it is.” 

Harry does, unfortunately. He shifts to allow Kensington and Mrs Kensington, who doesn’t look very upset, to pass, returning their good wishes for the summer solstice. Then he’s alone with Neville, and never has this been more awkward. 

“Look, Neville—” he says, just as Neville says, “Harry, can we—?” 

Neville grins awkwardly. Harry runs his hand through his hair. “Go ahead,” he says, knowing he’s going to regret it. Once a martyr, always a martyr, as Hermione would say.

Hermione says a lot of things. 

“Err, yeah,” Neville coughed. “I was, err, going to… look, I’m sorry. For leaving you hanging. I had to…I needed to think.” 

“For a whole month?” Harry says, tone laden with sarcasm. Neville winces, but nods, studying the ground like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s seen in his life. He looks so abashed that Harry feels something soften inside, and well, this situation is not entirely Neville’s fault. 

He’d thought Neville was interested. No, scratch that, he’d known Neville was interested. Neville had known Harry had known he was interested. Just…somehow it hadn’t clicked. For whatever reason Neville had pushed him away, and then for a whole month hadn’t talked to Harry, hadn’t answered his Floo calls, nor replied to his owls. For an entire month. 

Honestly, Harry had given up after two weeks. Thank Merlin Ron and Hermione had let him know Neville was okay. 

He glances at Neville again, sees the way Neville’s shoulders are hunched up around his shoulders, how he’s mangling his lip with his teeth (and he should not be finding that attractive, absolutely bloody well not), and he sighs. 

“It’s fine, Neville,” he says tiredly, reaching up to rub his eyes beneath his spectacles. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Harry—” Neville starts. Harry holds up a hand to head him off. 

“It’s _fine_.” He meets Neville’s eyes squarely, doesn’t let them go. “Just don’t do it again. I’ll hex you with the Jelly-Legs Jinx.”

“Please don’t,” Neville says. “Ron has jinxed me with that one too many times already over the last month.” 

Harry smirks. Neville rolls his eyes and shakes his head with wry amusement. He glances at Harry, meets his eyes for one second, looks away. Smirk fading, Harry, too, looks away. 

They’re silent, then, neither saying a word. Harry is looking around at the small clusters of people around him and wondering if he knows any of them well enough to join in. There’re the Kensingtons who were with Neville earlier, now with the Forcett cousins and Clothilde Pancroft, sister of Harry’s solicitor, who might be a likely group. 

Then there’s the McFartons, with whom Harry is on careful non-speaking terms, so Harry turns away from them. 

The last group is Nicholas and Marguerite Bletching, who are wrapped up in each other with lambent eyes and soft smiles. Harry finds himself watching this last couple, unable to suppress the envy that coats his tongue like sludge. He tries to tear himself away, but his eyes seem to have a will of their own, returning no matter how many times he tells them not to. 

“Harry.” Harry doesn’t want to look at Neville, but Neville’s touch on his shoulder is insistent. Closing his eyes and swearing under his breath, Harry takes a breath, then turns and looks. 

Neville is so close that Harry startles. Traitorously, his heart starts pounding loudly enough that Harry wonders if Neville can hear it. It doesn’t seem like it, as Neville isn’t betraying anything other than worry. Then Neville’s eyes flick down to Harry’s mouth, and Harry knows the jig is up. 

“Neville,” Harry says. 

Neville places a finger on Harry’s mouth, shakes his head. “Let me, Harry. Please.”

Harry doesn’t say anything when Neville removes his finger, even as he wonders about this change in heart. Neville had said no, hadn’t he? Yet he was still here staring at Harry’s mouth. Whatever it was that made Neville change his mind, Harry isn’t certain he wants to risk doing anything that changes Neville’s mind back. 

He’s drawn to Neville’s throat as Neville swallows, follows the rise and sink of Neville’s Adam’s apple, looks back up at Neville who, if possible, is closer yet. 

Heart racing, Harry doesn’t move as Neville’s hand wraps around Harry’s neck. Neville’s hand is a shock of warmth, sending goose bumps down Harry’s neck and making him shiver. 

“Nev.” No, you barking idiot, don’t say anything! You’ll ruin the moment! Harry’s brain screams at him. His mouth seems to move without Harry’s consent, speaking in a voice he doesn’t recognize even while Harry himself sways closer. “This is rather public.” 

Neville, his eyes huge in his face, gulps, nods. Harry comes to the distant realization that Neville’s terrified, but the majority of his brain is more concerned with cataloguing how Neville is leaning in, how his head is tilting, and how blue his eyes are… 

The first touch of Neville’s lips to Harry’s is tentative but electrifying. Harry gasps, but Neville doesn’t press, just sort of stays there until Harry opens his eyes. Neville still looks terrified, but also awed, and Harry can’t not ask. 

“Why now?” He doesn’t mean to sound hurt, but he doesn’t regret it. “You’re the one who said no. You cut me out of your life. You made me think that you didn’t want me.” 

Neville closes his eyes, pained. “I know. But Harry, I did want you. I do want you. Only…” 

“Only what?”

Neville takes his hand from Harry’s neck and runs it through his hair. Harry tells himself he doesn’t miss the weight of it. “I was expecting you to do something that you didn’t. And it took me this long to realize you wouldn’t.” 

Harry is so confused, he can feel it pouring off him. “What didn’t I do?” 

“You didn’t chase me,” Neville says. 

What? Harry didn’t expect that. “I didn’t chase you?” he repeats dumbly. 

“No, you didn’t,” Neville says. He looks resigned, like he knows this isn’t going to end well, and it makes Harry angrier. “You didn’t try to change my mind or force me to do things I didn’t want to do.” 

Harry can’t be hearing this. “Neville,” he says slowly, “You said no. Of course I wouldn’t try to change your mind.” 

“You’d be surprised how many people don’t think the same way.” For a moment Neville looks old and bitter, and Harry seriously cannot be hearing this. 

“So, what, you thought that because I kissed you I would take advantage of you? What kind of person do you think I am?” 

“I don’t think I was thinking,” Neville confesses. “I think I was remembering the people who tried to use me for something else, actually.” 

“Something else?” Harry echoes, even as his brain conjures up memories of the same thing happening with him. Specifically Mrs Windsmore, who tried to force him to marry her granddaughter so they could “get their name back.” 

“Yeah.” Neville’s sigh is weary, for which Harry supposes he can’t blame him. “It was…horrible. But you’ve had to deal with that, too. You should know exactly what I’m talking about.” 

As this hits rather close to what he’s thinking, Harry winces and rubs the back of his head. “Yeah, I s’pose so,” he mutters. “Still should have known that I wouldn’t do that.” 

“You’re right.” Neville smiles crookedly. “I should have. But it occurs to me that no, I don’t actually know you. We’re friends, or at least I like to think we are…”

“We are,” Harry says firmly. 

Neville’s face transforms when he smiles, making Harry’s traitor, _traitor_ heart skip a beat. “Thanks, Harry,” he says happily. His smile doesn’t dim when he goes on to add, “We’re friends, but we were never as close as you and Ron and Hermione were. 

“For all I knew _then_ ,” Neville looks at Harry meaningfully, shutting Harry’s mouth around his protest, “you could have been like all the rest.” He shrugs. 

Harry has to struggle to wrap his head around that. “What did you think I would be using you for? I’m more famous than you are, I don’t need more –”

“Actually I thought you might be using me to replace Ginny.” Neville is solemn when he looks at Harry, like he has thought about it and isn’t sure that he’s wrong. 

Gaping, Harry starts to laugh. “D’you, d’you know how long it’s been since I last thought about Ginny?” he says to Neville’s confused and hurt look. “Months. It’s been so long I don’t remember when the last time was. Ron would kill me for saying it, but it’s true.” He laughs some more. 

“So,” Neville is slowly brightening, still suspicious but looking more hopeful, “you’re not using me to replace Ginny?” 

“ _No._ ” Harry flaps his hand. 

“Why did you kiss me then?” Neville asks, bewildered. 

The last of Harry’s laughter fades as Harry realizes Neville is honestly asking. Neville really doesn’t know the answer to his own question. “Because you’re brilliant,” Harry says, staring. “You – you’ve made something of yourself. You’ve won all those Herbology awards and gotten published in those journals and found that new variant of the plant you had fifth year – mimble-something –”

“ _Mimbletus mimbletonia_?” 

“Yes, that.” Harry shakes his head in wonderment. “You’ve always known what you were going to do after the war. You’re doing it. I – I can’t begin to tell you how much I admire that.” He’s jealous of Neville for it, in fact, how quickly Neville managed to pick himself up after the war ended. Harry wasn’t able to do that as quickly, just move on from the war and find another purpose. He’s okay now, what with the business he started up last year, but it was hard. Very hard. 

Neville looks as pole-axed as Harry’s seen him. “I had no idea,” he says, sounding breathless. “You were following my progress?” 

“Well, yeah,” Harry shrugs, uncomfortable with Neville’s slack-jawed stare. “You’re my friend, Neville. Of course I wanted to know how you got on.” 

He doesn’t add that while he had kept tabs on all his friends, Neville had become special. How could he not be, when he’d protected the students of Hogwarts their seventh year? Or when he’d come out of nowhere to slay Nagini with the sword of Gryffindor, no questions required? The flashes of the new Neville in fifth year D.A. had filled in then, but it is now that Harry sees the potential realized. 

Is it really any wonder that Harry is attracted to him? 

“Well, thanks, Harry,” Neville says, beginning to grin like an idiot. He looks boyish suddenly, like Harry hasn’t seen him be before, and it really shouldn’t be as attractive as it is. Harry is doomed. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me.” 

Then there’s a hand taking Harry’s, and Neville’s bending down to whisper into his ear, “You’re not half-bad yourself.” 

Harry flushes. He knows he does, and he flushes the more for the knowledge. But he returns Neville’s grin with a cheeky grin of his own, reaches up to grab Neville by his tie. 

“Well,” he says, reeling Neville in, “not all of us can be brilliant.” 

“You are,” Neville disagrees, before their mouths meet and Harry gets a real kiss, public setting be hexed. 

The solstice day is supposed to be a day of celebrating the longest day of the year, giving thanks for the fertility of the harvest (and of other things as well). Additionally it is an acknowledgment that the days after are growing shorter, that soon winter will come and the sun will appear for shorter amounts of time until the winter solstice, the shortest day of the year. The celebration is meant to entice the sun into returning for another year, hoping that with enough gratitude the sun won’t decide to abandon the Earth and go warm some other planet instead. 

Of course nowadays everybody understands that the sun wouldn’t do that, but it’s the social gathering that counts anyway. 

For Harry, the solstice isn’t important for the sun or the social gathering. No. This solstice is much better than that. This solstice is the day Harry Potter becomes the luckiest sod in all magical England. It’s the day Neville Longbottom agrees to go out with him, and if that isn’t worth celebrating, then what is?


End file.
